


Freedom Is a Hot Pink Cummerbund

by JET_Playin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, House Elves, M/M, Shopping, The fluffiest fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, even the angst is fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:35:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22702540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JET_Playin/pseuds/JET_Playin
Summary: When Draco decides to free his house elves, Harry wants to help...
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 59
Kudos: 217





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, it's been a while since I've put out anything this long! Huge thanks to AssassinsDragon and CheekyTorah for helping me over the beginning hurdles, to GallifreyIsBurning for the amazing and swift beta work, and to MandrakeMoon for helping me find a title that was as silly as this fic! You all rock!
> 
> Disclaimer:  
> As always, I do not own these characters or locations, I just enjoy playing with them.

The sound of a chair scraping across the stone floor cut through the silence of the library, drawing Harry's admittedly wandering attention. Above the sea of bent heads and stiff shoulders, Draco Malfoy was weaving his way quickly through the huddled tables toward the one Harry shared with Hermione. 

"Granger!" Draco hissed, sliding gracefully into a chair beside her. "I need your insight on this… matter."

He sounded out breath, though the library didn't seem to present too athletic an obstacle. He must have run from the common room, Harry mused, taking in the slight flush across the back of his neck. It wasn't surprising; he seemed to go everywhere quickly these days. Not that Harry was paying attention, of course. Dragging his gaze away from the over-bright grey eyes locked on Hermione, Harry diverted his attention back to his essay while she turned to face Draco.

"What is it, Draco?" she asked, resting her book flat on the table. "What's happened?" 

"I've received an owl from—" he broke off, a rumble sounding from the back of his throat, and pushed a scroll of parchment into her hands. "Just read it."

Harry peeked through his lashes to see Hermione unroll the scroll, her worried eyes still on Draco before they flicked over to read the message. Her lips moved swiftly as she read, a habit she had when reading something quickly. 

"Indefinitely?" she read aloud. "I know the ministry has abolished the Kiss, but… Oh, Draco, I'm sorry—" 

But Draco was shaking his head. "I'm not. Do you know what this means?" 

Rolling the scroll neatly, she placed it back into his waiting hand. "I assume it means Lucius will remain in Azkaban indefinitely," she answered at length. 

"Yes, that's what it says," Draco scoffed, a hint of real humor in the upward tilt of his lips. "It means I'll be the head of Malfoy Manor after school."

"Well, that's wonderful, Draco." Hermione beamed, closing a hand over his on the table. "You've made such great strides already, I'm sure you'll—" 

"No, Granger. I have no idea what to do!" he cried, garnering a startled  _ shush _ from Madam Pince. Reigning himself in, which Harry assumed wasn't exactly easy, he went on. 

-

"I don't know what to do first," Draco explained in a loud whisper, trying to keep the rising panic from his voice. "There are so many changes to make but I want my first act to mean something." 

"Oh, I see," Granger hummed, tapping a finger to her lips. "There are probably rituals, pureblood traditions to follow. I can do some research and—" 

"No, no, that's not— I don't want to do this the right way, the traditional way. I want to do something that tells the world the house of Malfoy is, I don't know, entering a new era."

"Right. Well, that certainly opens up some options. You could give to a charity. There's a charity for war orphans that just begun looking for funding."

That was a good idea, but… "That's exactly what father would do." He sagged in his chair. This was going to be harder than he'd thought. "I mean, I will donate, of course, but it's too close to him for a first official act." Slumping forward, Draco propped his chin in the palm of one hand, already feeling a sulk coming on. "I could get rid of the peacocks. Father loved those."

Granger shook her head, hair flying loose from the tight knot at the nape of her neck. "He didn't love them," she insisted. "You said they were a status symbol for him. You actually like them, don't you?" 

Fighting a pout, he sighed. "Yes, you're right. They're quite lovely, even if they can be a bit mean." 

"Maybe researching traditions can help," she tried again. "It could at least give us some ideas to think about."

"Okay, yes. You're right." Standing, Draco turned in a circle. "I'll just get some books… Where do I begin?" 

Chuckling, Granger rose, slipped an arm around his elbow, and steered him toward a section of ancient books. 

-

Harry watched them go, intrigued. It was hard for him to see this as anything but a good thing, but he knew it couldn’t feel that way to Draco, regardless of what he said. Lucius was his father, and Draco had looked up to him his entire life. 

He was at a loss for what to do. Harry had been trying to get along with Draco ever since Hermione had begun spending more time with him, though he didn't hold out much hope for a lasting friendship. Draco still ignored his presence most of the time, speaking solely to Hermione if he could help it. How could Harry help if Draco didn't listen to him? 

Focusing his attention back on his essay, Harry tried to put them out of his mind, and succeeded for nearly an hour. He was rolling up his essay as they returned with Ron in tow. 

"Hiya, Harry," he greeted. He dropped himself into a chair and dug his own essay out of his book bag.

"Oh, Harry, are you finished?" Hermione asked, setting a stack of books on the table. 

"Just finished, yeah."

"Would you mind helping us with this?" 

Harry eyed the stack of books, each as thick as his hand was long, then glanced at Draco where he still stood with a stack of his own. His gaze was downcast, his posture stiff. He didn't want to ask Harry for help. 

"Yeah, sure," Harry smiled, slipping his essay into his own bag. Rising, he approached Draco and took half of his stack of books. Tried to catch his eye. They were never going to be friends if Draco never looked at him. 

For another hour or so, there was silence. Harry, Hermione, and Draco poured through books on pureblood traditions while Ron chewed on his quill and furrowed his brow, breaking the stillness only once to ask Harry if he could look at his essay. Harry felt his eyes beginning to cross. 

"What's the point of this, again?" he asked. "How are pureblood courting rituals going to help in this situation?" 

Hermione didn't look up from her book. "I'm not sure, Harry," she said idly. "Anything could help. Think outside the box."

"This box is narrow, Hermione. He's not going to get engaged as his first official act, are you Draco?" 

For a moment, his emotions were written clearly across his face, shock, fear, disgust, before he schooled his features and affected a shudder. "Absolutely not, Potter."

"You see?" Harry asked, irrationally relieved. 

"Why don't you just fire all of your dad's people and hire your own?" Ron suggested, looking up from his scroll. 

Draco opened his mouth, closed it again. "That's… not actually a bad idea, Weasley."

-

"People? Like  _ advisors _ ?" Potter asked, putting on a false posh accent and sitting up taller in his chair. 

"Yes," Draco replied, fighting a smile at his antics. "And barristers, and accountants. The only problem is I don't know any of them, not really. I can't just fire them, can I? Some of them might be good." Frowning, Draco looked around the table. "It's definitely a good idea, but I think it will take too much time to be a first official act."

Another glance around the table showed nods of agreement and Draco sighed. Smiled. 

"What else is there? The assets, the peacocks, the advisors—" A thought struck him like a well aimed bludger, right between the eyes. A glance at the badge on Granger's book bag and the thought solidified into an idea. "The house elves!" he all but shouted, then ducked when Madam Pince shushed him again. 

"The house elves?" Potter asked, confused. 

"I can free the house elves!" 

"Draco, that's perfect!" Granger cried, beaming. "It's not something most purebloods would do, it says you're turning your name around, and it's a good thing for the elves. Oh, I'm definitely on board."

Draco laughed, forgetting himself in the moment. Weasley and Granger were smiling, and Potter wore a little grin Draco was still getting used to seeing. 

"So," he began, leaning forward across the table. "What will you give the elves?”

Draco frowned. “Give them?” he asked, confused. 

“To free them,” Potter clarified. “You do remember how to free house elves, don’t you?”

Draco had the distinct impression Potter was laughing at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to be offended. He was right, after all. Draco had momentarily forgotten he’d have to give the elves an article of clothing to set them free. “I… I don’t know. What would you…?”

-

“Well,” Harry said, stretching his arms above his head and shaking himself loose. “I tricked Lucius into giving Dobby one of my used socks.” He snorted at the disgusted twist of Draco’s lips before going on. “I was a bit desperate. What do you want to give them?”

“I’ve never thought about it,” he admitted.

“Lucius’ old clothes!” Ron suggested, his quill in the air like he was answering a question in class. “Since he won’t be back, that could be a good way to deal with them.”

Cringing, Draco shook his head. “Mother would never allow it.”

“What about your old clothes, then?” Hermione asked. “Surely you have something.”

“Is that on?” Harry asked. “I mean, I was desperate. I’d have given Dobby something special, if I’d had the choice.”

“Like, something new?”

“Something new,” he nodded. “Something I picked out especially for him.” Harry smiled, his thoughts full of the odd little elf who’d fought so hard to protect him, who’d been his friend in spite of social structures. Who’d given his life to…

Shaking his head, he focused on what Draco was saying. 

“I could buy something,” he said thoughtfully. “But I don’t know where to begin. What do elves like?”

Now Harry laughed. “Dobby liked socks, but I’m sure anything will do.”

“Anything, Potter?” Draco asked skeptically, then laughed.

“Why not?” Harry asked. “They aren’t used to actual clothing. Anything can feel special.”

“Exactly,” Hermione nodded. “I could get you some catalogs, if you like?”

Draco seemed to think about it for a moment before shaking his head. “No, I can go to the shops, myself. As soon as I decide what to buy…”

With little more than a split second’s thought, Harry leaned forward, the words tumbling from his lips almost of their own volition. “I’ll come with you, we can figure it out together.”

Hours later, while Harry went about preparing for bed, he still couldn’t get the image of Draco’s pleased smile from his thoughts. Maybe they could be friends, he thought with a smile of his own.


	2. Chapter Two

Stepping out of the castle, Draco squinted against the harsh winter sunlight streaming through breaks in the cloud cover. He hadn’t gotten out much since the start of eighth year, opting to forego quidditch matches and trips to Hogsmeade in favor of studying and keeping his head down. As the only returning Slytherin, he felt the pressure to succeed acutely. But he was on a mission now, and a trip to Hogsmeade was in order. Squaring his shoulders, Draco shoved his hands into the pockets of his winter cloak and jogged down the front steps and onto the path that led away from the castle. 

“Draco!”

Draco turned to find Potter hailing him, a red and gold scarf wrapped loosely around his neck and his cloak hanging open to flap in the wind. He paused, waiting for him to catch up before turning into the wind and marching forward.

“Any ideas yet?” Potter asked.

“Not the faintest,” Draco assured him. “What does one get an elf?”

Potter chuckled, a low sound that sent a shiver through Draco. He dealt with the feeling the same way he always did; by ignoring it. Surely, Potter would be appalled if he knew the thoughts the individual sounds he made induced. And now they were approaching something akin to friendship, something Draco had no intention of compromising with a wanton reaction to a laugh.

“We’ll find something,” Potter sighed.

They passed the rest of the walk in a companionable silence while Draco ran through what he knew he’d be looking for in the shops. He said he hadn’t the faintest idea, but that wasn’t entirely true. He simply didn’t know how to tell Potter he did intend to get socks for some of the twenty odd elves that inhabited the Manor. Probably gloves, too. Maybe a scarf…

Gods, he felt like a fool. Was he really planning to buy presents for his house elves? No, that was the point, wasn’t it? They wouldn’t be his house elves any longer. Shit. What were he and his mother going to do? Could they cook and clean for themselves? Who would take care of the Manor?

Draco shook himself. Surely there were humans who offered such services. They would be fine. They would have to be. Freeing the elves was the perfect note on which to begin his new role in the Malfoy household. So what if he was terrified of that role? He’d accept it, embrace it, and prove to the world that he deserved it.

-

Harry shuffled through the snow, lost in his own thoughts. After giving it some thought, he realised he was actually quite proud of Draco. It took a lot of guts to upend your whole life like that. And surely it would do exactly that. Draco Malfoy was nothing if not the epitome of his elite social class and Harry caught himself chuckling, more than once, at the idea of him trying to navigate life without servants. He’d have to learn to cook, to clean. A vivid image of Draco with a duster in one hand and a rag in the other, dirt smudging his posh face, had Harry stifling a giggle as he crunched along the path. It wouldn’t do to laugh at Draco while he was walking alongside the man. Well, a little behind. Draco’s strides ate up the path, as if he was running from something.

At least it was a nice view, Harry mused, then shook himself.

Before he could analyze that thought, they were stepping through the gates that separated Hogwarts from the Hogsmeade Station. “Gladrags?” he asked, gesturing in the direction of the only clothing shop in the village.

“Unless you’d rather go all the way to Diagon,” Draco scoffed, tugging on his scarf. After a quick glance at Harry, he ducked his head. “I’m sorry, still working on the sarcasm. Yes, Gladrags.”

Harry laughed, not bothering to hide it this time. “You’re allowed to be sarcastic, Draco,” he said. “I don’t think I’d recognise you if you stopped, entirely.”

He’d aimed for teasing, but Draco winced. “Maybe, but is that really a bad thing?”

His gaze studiously on a group of third years dancing around their chaperone, Harry sighed. "It would, yeah. You are who you are, Draco. Not all of it was bad." With a deep breath, he started toward the centre of the village and the shops it offered. “Come on then, let’s see what we can find.”

-

Still reeling from Potter’s kind words, Draco trudged after him through Hogsmeade and into the clothing shop. It had been over a year since the last time he’d shopped for anything, even new school robes. But he didn’t want to think about the time in between, so he applied himself to the matter at hand.

The sock selection was, surprisingly, quite large. There were a multitude of options, from muted, professional colours to wild, brightly patterned monstrosities. He didn’t know where to begin. And wasn’t that just the way this whole endeavor had turned out? Draco felt like a fish someone had dragged from the depths of the Black Lake and plopped in the grass. Flailing, unable to catch his breath or get back to anything he’d always known.

Taking a deep breath, Draco tried to centre himself. He could do this, he thought. He wasn’t a fish, he was a snake: adaptable to water and land. He just had to adapt. Turning away from the socks, he sought familiar ground. There was a generous assortment of possibilities, he just had to assess them. Potter wasn’t any help, either. He trailed a foot behind Draco, hands in his pockets as if afraid to touch anything.

“Any suggestions?” Draco asked, tearing his gaze away from a silk cummberbund in hot pink.

Potter chuckled, following his eyes. “How about a pink cummberbund?” he asked.

Draco scoffed. “Why would an elf want a cummberbund?”

“Why wouldn’t an elf want a cummberbund?” Potter countered. “I’d wear that.”

All he could do was stare dumbfounded as Potter fingered the smooth material. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“Of course I would.” So saying, he took the cummberbund from its rack and held it up to his waist, striking a dramatic pose and drawing a startled laugh from Draco.

“No, stop!” he cried. “You look ridiculous!”

“So? No one’s looking.”

Draco looked around the shop. People were indeed looking, and he said so.

“Nope,” Potter argued, in spite of the clear evidence to the contrary. “No one is looking. No one ever looks at me.”

“I’m looking,” Draco reminded him and Potter stilled.

“Oh? And what do you see, Draco?”

Something sparked in his eyes, part mischievous, part serious. Entirely dangerous. 

“I see a fool in a pink cummberbund,” he sneered, though there was no bite to his words.

-

“And what’s wrong with that?” Harry asked, dangling the strip of cloth in front of him. “You should try it.”

Rolling his eyes, Draco snatched it away and returned it to the rack, but he selected another, shorter this time. At the questioning look Harry sent him, he smirked. “This is a better size for an elf,” was all he said as he moved toward another section.

Harry watched, amused, as Draco made his way methodically through the shop, choosing items and rejecting others. Nearly everything he selected was as ridiculous as the cummberbund; bright colours, wild patterns. It was as if he’d decided on ‘outrageous’ as his theme and acted accordingly. By the time they left, the sun was making its way toward the horizon and he and Draco were both weighed down with shopping bags.

“I think we should go to Diagon, next time,” Harry said, hitching his handful of bag straps onto his wrist. “Twilfitt and Tatting’s probably has a better selection.”

Draco hummed and nodded. “Probably. It might be worth a trip into Muggle London, as well.”

He decided not to comment; Draco was in good spirits and Harry didn’t want to draw attention to how casually he’d thrown out the idea of Muggle anything. He opted, instead, for levity. “How many house elves do you have?” he asked, mock incredulous. 

“I’m not exactly sure,” he replied, thoughtfully. “More than twenty, I think. I’ll ask Mother.”

“Twenty? What do they all do?”

Draco laughed. “I don’t know! It’s a big house, I’m sure they keep themselves busy.”

“Do house elves have hobbies?” Harry asked, bumping their shoulders together amicably.

“Yes,” Draco snorted. “They have quilting circles and book clubs.”

“Chess clubs,” Harry sniggered.

“And gobstones!”

“Trading card games.”

“Garage bands!” Draco shouted into the wind, startling Harry along with a flock of birds in the nearby trees. Together, they dissolved into fits of giggles, pausing in the path to double over with mirth and the first unburdend conversation they’d shared since Madam Malkin’s.

Catching his breath, Harry reached out a hand to grasp Draco’s shoulder for balance. “You know what a garage band is?” he asked.

“We do have bands in the wizarding world, Potter,” Draco pointed out, a flush riding high on his cheeks.

“But do you have garages? Without cars?”

“Garages have existed longer than cars, you know… they were used to store carriages. That’s basic human history.”

Harry laughed again, a bark this time. “Okay, okay, fair enough.”

When Harry left him in the Entrance Hall, Draco was still chuckling under his breath. Maybe they could be friends, after all...


	3. Chapter Three

Harry smiled at the whole of Diagon Alley. The cluttered chaos and excited noise of the wizarding district always lifted him. Not that he needed lifting. Draco was walking beside him with a similar smile on his face. They'd spent hours that morning working together on their latest potions assignment. It had become a regular event in the past few weeks, and it seemed Draco was coming out of his shell, Harry mused. Why that pleased him quite so much was still a mystery, but Harry decided not to look too closely. He was loathe to upset the equilibrium they'd achieved. 

"I've been thinking," Draco began, his long stride slowing for a beat. "Do you think we'll be able to find a tutu here?" 

Harry snorted, still not quite used to the occasional questions that showed how ridiculous Draco's mind could be. "You want to buy a tutu?" 

"For an elf."

"For an elf." Clear grey eyes met his and Harry chuckled. "Okay, a tutu for an elf. I hope she likes it."

"Or he," Draco admonished. "Elves don't live by our gender stereotypes, Potter."

Harry blinked, staring at Draco like he'd grown another head. "Are you lecturing me on LGBT elf culture?" 

"Well, somebody has to," Draco smirked. 

Laughing, Harry grabbed Draco's arm and dragged him into Twilfitt and Tatting's, ignoring the looks they received from the general public. If he could keep Draco in this mood, those looks couldn't touch them. 

Among a dozen other things, Draco bought a magenta waistcoat, a frock in an off-putting shade of greenish brown, and scarf that appeared to be long enough to wrap around an elf's entire body several times. But there were no tutus. 

"I have an idea," Harry began as they left the clothing shop. "If you still want to go into Muggle London."

Draco glanced toward the end of Diagon Alley where the Leaky Cauldron stood guard over the entrance to all things magical and swallowed hard. 

-

Muggle London. Though it had been his idea, Draco had never been outside of the wizarding district of London in his life. The very idea unnerved him. 

"We'll have to take off our robes," Potter was saying. "But there's a great charity shop close to the Leaky. Hermione took me there last summer to get some band t-shirts."

At the look on his face, Potter paused and lifted a hand to Draco's shoulder. 

"We don't have to, if you—" 

"No, no. It's fine, Potter. It was my idea, after all."

"I know, but—"

"It's fine." So saying, he turned on his heel and marched toward the end of the alley, leaving Potter to catch up. 

At the Leaky Cauldron, they stopped to remove their robes, bundling them into their shopping bags. 

"Do you always dress like a century old vampire?" Potter asked, eyeing his clothes. 

Draco looked down at himself. "What are you talking about? This is the height of fashion."

"Yeah? Maybe in the seventeen nineties. Oh, well, it's not like we have time to change. Come on."

"What? Potter, this is current fashion, what do you mean by—" 

He stilled when they burst through the front door of the pub and Draco saw the Muggles passing by. He thought of all the ridiculous get ups he'd seen wizards wear over the years, when they tried to emulate Muggle fashion, and swore under his breath. Somehow, it didn't look all that ridiculous on Muggles. Men and women alike wore denims of all lengths and sizes, some even wore skirts and tops made of the stiff material. Everything else was bright and colourful or dark and brooding, in a mix as unique as the wizarding garb to which he was accustomed. 

A boy around his age passed by in a purple jumper covered in skulls and crossbones and Draco watched him go, absently wondering if he could get that in a smaller size… For an elf, of course. Shaking himself, he turned to glare at Potter. 

"Are you suggesting this is fashion?" he drawled, then snorted. "Hardly." But his gaze locked onto and followed a group of Muggles, all of them dressed in various shades of pink and twittering like birds. 

"If you say so. Hey, maybe someone will think you're an actor," Potter said, trying and failing to conceal his mirth. 

"Oh, sod off. Where's this shop?" 

Draco was starting to wonder why he invited Potter along for these missions. All the man did was laugh at him. And touch him, he remembered when Potter grabbed his wrist and dragged him toward the shop in question. It was the touching that caused the biggest problem. As if Draco needed reminding of his little schoolboy crush, especially in public. He kept his colour even through sheer force of will; there was no way he'd let people see what Potter was doing to him. 

"This place is great," Potter was saying as he pulled Draco through the door. "I'll bet they even have tutus."

Looking around, Draco didn't doubt it. There seemed to be a bit of everything in the small shop, making it look bigger than it was. Every corner crammed with merchandise, every aisle narrow and crowded. 

-

"How are we supposed to find anything in here?" he asked, slightly forlorn. 

"It's easy enough. Follow me." But Harry took his wrist again, pulling him along instead. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something about the cool, pale skin felt good under his fingers and he decided, not for the first time, not to question it. 

They made their way through the aisles of clothing, selecting and rejecting items seemingly randomly. Draco gasped when he saw a purple jumper, then sighed, returning it to its rack, apparently dissatisfied with it. They even found a tutu in the children's section, bright green and the perfect size for an elf. 

"It's a bit big, but what do you think of this?" Harry asked, holding a dress up for Draco to see. It was black with white horizontal stripes, cinched at the waist, with an enormous flower in the middle of the chest and covered in a breezy purple cover up that was patterned with some sort of trailing vines. 

Draco glanced up briefly, laughed, and nodded. "Yes, put it in the trolley. What about this?" He held up a small leather jacket with zippers everywhere. It was clearly made for a child, but well made and well loved. It reminded him of the jacket in his trunk, the one he'd inherited from Sirius. 

"I think it's perfect," he smiled, reaching up to finger the zip pull. "Have you ever worn one? You should get one for yourself."

For some reason he didn't care to investigate, his mind supplied an image of himself on Sirius' old bike, Draco plastered to his back with his arms locked around Harry's waist. He could picture it vividly and, if it weren't for the trill of laughter coming from the Draco in his mind, he could almost smell smoke. 

Dropping his hand, he fixed his features into a bright smile. "I bet it'd look great on you."

-

The smile didn't reach Potter’s eyes, something somber lurked in their depths and Draco had to stop himself reaching out. Instead, he tossed the jacket into the trolley and turned to look for one that might fit him. 

The charity shop was strange to him. Instead of rows upon rows of identical products, every single item was different, unique. Potter said that was because they were all previously owned and that, in and of itself, should have appalled Draco. Instead, he was fascinated, compelled to give each article of clothing individual attention and consideration. 

By the time he'd finished, his trolley was piled high and Potter was dancing in place. 

"Is that it?" he asked, gesturing to the small mountain of clothes. "You've been through the whole shop twice."

Draco laughed. "Yes, Potter, that's it."

"You know you can call me Harry, right?" 

Stilling, Draco met his eyes, surprised to find that same somber expression in them. "I'll consider it," he said, and meant it. It would be difficult to change a habit of seven years, but it might be worth it if Potter’s—Harry's—smile were to reach his eyes, like it was now. 

Flustered more than he cared to admit, Draco pushed his trolley toward the front of the shop, more than ready to go back to Hogwarts and everything familiar to him. Except, he realised, he wasn't sure if he had enough money on hand for the pile of clothes. In fact…

"Shit! I didn't get Muggle money before we left Diagon."

Harry laughed at him, again. "It's okay, I'll get these."

"You'll— No way, Potter! This has to be a fortune!" 

"No more than two hundred pounds, tops. If you're so worried about it, you can pay me back."

Draco nodded. "Okay, yes. I'll pay you back."

"You don't have to, of course." 

"No, I want to. I can pay for this myself."

"No one is saying you can't, Draco. I'm just saying I'm happy to."

Draco frowned the rest of the way out of the shop, back to Hogwarts, and long into the night before he realised Harry was just being kind. He wondered if anyone had ever been kind to him and slept fitfully on the knowledge that no, no one had.


	4. Chapter Four

There was something about Draco that drew Harry to him on any given day, something he was slowly beginning to recognise, and he frequently found himself seeking him out, if only to study. If studying morphed into conversation as time wore on, well, Harry wasn’t going to complain. When Draco made his way through the Great Hall to the Gryffindor table, Harry slid down to make room. When they met in the corridors, Harry offered to carry his books. It didn’t take a genius to recognise what was happening, but Harry made no move to stop it happening. He found he didn’t want it to stop.

Quite the opposite.

“Draco,” he began as he breezed through the door to Draco’s dorm. He’d already checked the map and knew he was seated at his desk, likely doing homework. “I have a question about the potions assignment, if you have a—”

“Merlin, Potter, can't you knock?” Draco demanded, snapping a slim paper pamphlet closed on his desk and shielding it with one arm.

“Draco?” Harry began, affecting a tone of surprised admiration. “Are you looking at naughty pictures?” he teased. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Potter,” Draco scoffed, relaxing a little. “What did you need?”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “Just a potions question. That’s a catalogue, isn’t it?”

“That’s not a potions question,” he growled, then sighed. “So what if it is?”

“Draco, you have tons of clothes for the elves, what are you doing?”

“I… I found it, Harry,” Draco admitted. “The jumper I want.” Turning back to his desk, he opened the catalogue and held it out for him to see. “I want the purple one, but they have several colours to choose from. I could get green, or blue!”

As he rambled, Harry peered at the page he was indicating. On a mannequin, there was a black hoodie with little images scattered over every inch. He squinted, something he rarely had to do when he was actually wearing his glasses, and frowned.

“You want a hoodie covered in cupcakes?” he asked, perplexed.

“What?” His brow furrowed, Draco yanked the catalogue back to squint at it himself. “Those aren’t cupcakes, you prat. They’re skulls!”

“Skulls?”

“Yes, skulls. And crossbones. You know, the universal symbol for poison?”

“Or pirates!” Harry exclaimed. “Are you going to be a pirate, cupcake?”

“Oh, sod off, you twat!” Draco stood and stormed to his bed, dropping the catalogue into his trunk as he went.

“No, Draco, I’m sorry,” Harry laughed, aware that he didn’t sound remotely sorry. “It’s great, really.”

“I know it is,” Draco harrumphed, folding his arms over his chest. “What did you want, again?”

Harry smiled and crossed the room to stand beside him, tossing his potions book onto the bed. Honesty, he decided. 

-

“I made up an excuse to come see you,” he shrugged, sitting beside Draco on the bed.

A small smile squirmed its way across Draco’s lips and he shoved at Harry’s shoulder. “You did not,” he said, trying to smirk instead.

“I did,” Harry insisted. “Although, I didn’t realise you’d be drooling over cupcake hoodies.”

Draco jabbed an elbow into his side, relishing the loud “oof” and subsequent laughter. Harry had become a regular guest in recent weeks. It seemed he did always have an excuse to seek Draco out, not that he was complaining. This wasn’t what he expected when he and Granger began their tentative friendship; he couldn’t have even imagined it. And yet, here they were. Draco and Harry. Friends.

Of course, the feelings Draco tried to bury went a little haywire whenever Harry smiled at him, as he was now, but that was okay. He had infinite stores of self control. No matter what he wanted when Harry’s laughter brought his face mere inches from Draco’s, he would not close that distance. When Harry's nose bumped against his. He wouldn’t. When his eyes fluttered closed and he felt a puff of hot breath against his cheek. He wouldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

Warm lips touched his and Draco nearly jumped out of his skin. Did he—? He wouldn’t! But then… Fingers joined lips on his face and it was all Draco could do not to moan into the sensation. What was he doing? 

Jolting backward, he gasped, stumbling to apologise. "Fuck, Harry, I'm sorry. I— I don't know what—" 

But Harry was shaking his head, laughing again. "There's no need to apologize for something I did, Draco. I'm not sorry and I won't pretend I am, but I won't kiss you again until you want me to." 

“Until I…” Draco sighed. If Harry wanted to kiss him—holy hell—then Draco had no intention of stopping him. “Potter, I’ve wanted you to kiss me for—”

Impatient as always, Harry didn’t wait for him to finish his sentence before he was leaning in again, capturing his lips and dragging him closer. Unable to do anything else, Draco matched his enthusiasm, smiling against his lips.

-

Harry grinned, beyond pleased when Draco all but climbed into his lap to get closer. Honesty, he mused, was definitely the way to go. He should have tried it sooner. Shifting, he hooked a hand around Draco’s thigh, drawing it over his own legs to help his progression, groaned when the movement brushed their cocks together through their trousers. 

“Wait,” Draco gasped, pulling back enough to look into Harry’s eyes. The swirling grey was darker than usual, his pupils lust blown. “What’s happening, exactly?” he asked.

“Well,” Harry began, running one hand down his back to cup his arse, to squeeze firmly. “When two people like each other—” 

“What? No, damn it, I know what’s happening.” He narrowed his eyes and scowled, and Harry bit back a laugh. When had he begun to think of Draco Malfoy as cute? “I mean,  _ why  _ are you kissing me?”

“Well,” Harry began again, grinning as he lowered his forehead to Draco’s, eyes locked on his. “When two people like each other…”

A sound of frustration rumbled low in Draco’s throat and Harry did laugh. “Shut the fuck up, you wanker!”

“Make me.”

Harry wondered briefly if he’d pushed too far, gone for too lighthearted, when Draco surged forward and crushed their lips together again. Happily, he lost himself in the taste, the texture or Draco’s lips, the easy perfection of the moment.

“Draco, have you seen— oh!” Hermione’s voice broke through the haze, drawing a frustrated groan from Harry when Draco drew back, a startled expression on his elegant face. He would have pulled away completely, if not for Harry’s grip on his hips.

“Hermione,” Harry whined. “Can’t you knock?”

“The door was open, Harry,” she smirked, crossing her arms. “Well, that took you two long enough.”

“What?” Draco squawked as Harry pointed and ordered, “Out!”

“I’m going, I’m going,” she said, shaking her head and sending the mass of curls swaying. Turning, she called in the direction of the common room, “He’s busy, Ron! Play chess with Dean!”

-

“Merlin,” Draco groaned, dropping his head to Harry’s shoulder. “How humiliating!”

“What?” Harry asked, leaning back to try to get a look at his face, a smirk clear in his voice. “You don’t want to be caught kissing me?”

“I don’t want to be caught kissing anyone!” he cried. His shoulders hunched and he thought it might be nice to simply disappear into Harry at that moment. He was warm and firm and, Merlin, right beneath him. Straightening, he eyed Harry suspiciously. “Why  _ did  _ you kiss me?”

Harry laughed. “You mean besides the fact that you’re fit and funny and utterly adorable?” He shrugged. “You wanted to be a cupcake pirate. I couldn’t help myself. Frankly, it’s amazing I didn’t do it sooner.”

Draco wasn’t quite sure he wasn’t hearing things. “I’m sorry, come again?”

“Oh,” Harry said, running his eyes over Draco’s body in a manner that was just this side of lascivious. “I haven’t come yet, but I’m sure we’ll get there.”

“Gods, Harry, what’s gotten into you?” Draco shoved at his shoulder before his own words sank in. “Shit, did someone give you a love potion? Of course! Why else would you—?”

“What? Draco, Draco no.” He grabbed Draco’s shoulders, steadied him. “No one has given me a potion of any kind. I haven’t eaten since dinner, no one has given me a strange drink. I’m perfectly lucid.” Smiling, he leaned closer. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to kiss you again.”

“You’re sure?” Draco asked, fighting the urge to give in, just a bit longer. 

“I’m sure.”

"If you're under a potion, I'm going to hurt you." he said, finally sinking back into Harry. 

The smell of him washed over Draco again, warm cotton and man, and he drank it in, reveling in this turn of events like he hadn't had the wherewithal to do earlier. Harry Potter was kissing him. As far as Draco knew, he was alive and awake and Harry was, too, and he was still kissing him. And he went on kissing him, long into the night. 


	5. Chapter Five

“Where you headed in such a hurry?” Harry asked, startling Draco as he rounded a corner. He smiled, hands immediately reaching forward to stroke the soft material of the hoodie Draco wore. He almost couldn’t believe he actually bought it. Or that he often wore it around the school.

“Oh, Harry,” he said, moving into the circle of his arms and leaning in for a kiss. “I was looking for you. Why is it you always know where I am but I can’t find you without running you down in the corridors?”

Harry grinned. “I have a map,” was all he said.

“Right. You have a map that shows you where everyone in the castle is at any given time.” 

He sounded skeptical but Harry had to laugh at how right he was. “I didn’t say that. I said it shows me where  _ you  _ are.”

Draco shook his head with a sigh. “Okay, Potter.”

“Anyway,” Harry said, grinning again. “You were looking for me? Were you getting lonely?”

That earned him a glare and Draco moved back to begin walking again. “Not just you, you prat. I need to speak to the entirety of the Gryffindor Golden Trio. Does that map show you where your friends are?”

“It might do. But we’d have to go to my room to get it and you know we won’t leave if I get you in there…”

A bright pink flush raced up Draco’s neck to tint his cheeks and he looked rather like he’d swallowed a lemon. Harry laughed, taking his hand in his and swinging it merrily.

“Why must you say things like that?”

“Because you blush so prettily when I do.” He replied, darting a glance to watch it flare up again. “I never would have thought you were such a prude.”

“I am not a  _ prude _ , Potter. I am a sensible person in a public space and you’re talking like we’re already in your  _ bedroom _ .” And he whispered the last word, eyes darting around to ensure no one was listening.

“God, you’re cute.” Harry groaned, stopping to pull Draco against him for another kiss, deeper this time. “How did I never realise how bloody adorable you are?”

-

“Probably because I was too big of a git for you to see it,” Draco supplied, smiling up at Harry in spite of his teasing. If it were anyone else, he’d have fought the idea of being labelled cute, but this was Harry. Frankly, he could call Draco anything he liked.

"Probably. Didn't stop me from thinking you were fit, though."

"Ha, liar!" 

"Well, it's not like I  _ knew _ I thought it, but it was definitely there."

Draco opened his mouth to argue but a flurry of movement and a burst of sound drew his attention to the doorway a few feet ahead of them. The library, where he'd find at least one other third of the Golden Trio. 

"Come on, let's go get Granger," he said, pulling out of Harry's arms until they were holding hands again. 

But Harry dug in his heels, forcing Draco to drag him. "Are you sure you don't want to just go to my dorm and check out that map?" 

"Maybe later," Draco said flippantly. "I need to talk to you three."

"About what? Can't it wait?" He was pouting, but Draco refused to give in. 

"Nope."

They found Granger and, unsurprisingly, Weasley studying at their usual table. Still tugging Harry along, he slid into a chair beside Granger.

“Hey, I need to talk to you.”

“Hi Draco, Harry,” Granger greeted them. “What is it?”

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, waiting until all eyes were on him. “If this is going to be my first official act as head of Malfoy Manor, I need to treat it officially. I need to make it an event, I need witnesses. I’d like to formally invite the three of you to bear witness.”

“Oh, Draco!” Granger all but squealed, while Harry and Weasley frowned.

“You want us to come watch you set your house elves free?” Weasley asked as Harry said, “Do we have to wear dress robes?” in the most forlorn voice Draco had ever heard him use.

“Yes, Weasley, that’s what I’m asking. No, Harry, I was thinking something more casual. I’ll be wearing Muggle clothes, myself.”

“Oh, Draco!” Granger said again. “That’s a wonderful idea! We could bring Luna! She’s doing a piece for the Quibbler and I just know this would be perfect for it.”

-

Draco’s face paled at the suggestion and he opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to find the words to refuse. Harry winced. Hermione wasn’t exactly subtle with her ideas, and she could be a little clueless at very rare intervals.

“You don’t want press,” Harry supplied softly when Draco still hadn’t said anything, waiting for panicked eyes to meet his. “Because that’s what Lucius would do. He’d make sure the world heard that he was turning over a new leaf with big announcements and bold statements. But that’s not what Hermione is suggesting, is it Hermione?”

Harry and Draco turned as one to face Hermione again, to find a horrified look on her face. “Of course not! No, Draco, you have to understand: she’s already writing a piece about house elves; it wouldn’t be about you except in relation to that.”

Draco narrowed his eyes, thinking. Harry understood his hesitation. In the end, it was up to him, but Harry hoped he’d accept this. How would the world know he was changing for the better if he kept it to himself?

“Okay,” Draco said, at length. “She can come, but that’s all, no more press.”

“No more press,” Hermione promised, then reached over and pulled Draco into a hug.

“What are you doing?” he squawked and Madam Pince hissed in their direction. “Unhand me! Harry, hel—” 

Before Harry could do more than laugh, Hermione was releasing him, an indulgent smile spread across her face.

"Right." Standing, Draco made a show of straightening his robes. "If you'll excuse me, I have other matters to attend to."

"Aw, Hermione! You made him blush," Harry teased, smirking up at Draco. 

"Watch it, Potter," Draco warned, but the words held little bite. 

Standing, Harry pressed a kiss to his sharp cheekbone and whispered in his ear, "You ready to go see that map?" 

He flushed again, but nodded and they headed back to the eighth year dorms together. By the time they arrived, they'd forgotten all about the map. 


	6. Chapter Six

The last few weeks of school passed quickly for Draco. Between classes, N.E.W.T.s, and entirely too much time spent with one Harry Potter, he barely had time to plan for the actual day of releasing the elves. As it was, the only time he had to even think about it was lying in bed on a Saturday morning while Harry snored lightly behind him. He had a few things he had to do going into this endeavor, and he took this time to run through them in his head. 

First, he needed to order food. A catered event seemed appropriate, and asking the elves to cook it themselves sounded like the exact opposite. Second, he had to get home and go through all of the clothing he’d purchased and decide what was going to the elves and what he’d be keeping for himself—mostly from the Muggle clothes. He still had to pick a day to do it, too, and he hadn’t even informed his mother of his plans.

Taking a deep breath, Draco relaxed against the warm body behind him. There was no sense in panicking. He could do this. And, although he never would have guessed as much, Harry would help—had already helped more than Draco could have hoped. They would take the first steps into this post war world together.

Harry hummed, almost as if he’d heard Draco’s thoughts, and tightened his arms around his waist. "Good morning, gorgeous," he murmured, nuzzling Draco's ear. “What are you thinking so loudly about?”

Draco snorted, then turned in the circle of Harry’s arms to smile up at him. “I do not think loudly.”

“Sure you do, woke me from a dead sleep.” 

“I know you enough by now to know what woke you was your bladder, you prat. Hurry up, now. We should start getting ready.”

Frowning, Harry cast a wandless tempus, then groaned. “It’s not even eight yet, why do we have to get ready so early?”

“Because I want you to be presentable,” Draco admonished, rolling to sit on the side of the bed and using his pillow to swat at Harry. “Come along, Potter.”

-

Snuggling deeper into the pile of bedclothes in spite of Draco’s orders, Harry smiled and chose to watch him move about the room, instead. Draco had his own room for reasons Harry didn’t want to think about, but for which he was eternally grateful. As was Ron, considering that Harry’s situation definitely contributed positively to his own, as well. Not that Harry wanted to think about that, either, but both Ron and Hermione seemed more relaxed than they had before, so he wasn’t complaining.

“Harry, get up you lazy sod!” Draco called, dragging him from his (decidedly disturbing) thoughts, and Harry groaned again.

“I need coffee.”

“Fine, but don’t take too long. I want to fix your hair after you get a shower. That could take hours.”

Harry snorted, sauntering out of the room. “You want to  _ try, _ ” he called over his shoulder.

He found Ron at the Gryffindor table, head bowed over his own steaming mug of coffee, and slid in beside him.

“Mornin’” he said, pouring himself a cup and inhaling the fragrant steam. “‘Mione make you get up early, too?”

“Mmm. How did we get here?”

“Extreme good luck, mate.”

Ron chuckled, though it sounded a bit strained. “You’re right, you’re right. D’you suppose the first person to make coffee had someone wake them up too early?”

“Oh, no doubt,” Seamus quipped, straddling the bench opposite them and slumping onto the table. “Poor bugger thought he was making tea, he was so tired.”

Harry and Ron exchanged looks, sniggering into their coffee. 

“Welp, at least I’m not alone anymore,” Ron said, grinning when Harry and Seamus both groaned. “It’s going to be a lovely day.”

-

When Harry returned from his shower, Draco set to work.

“I’m telling you,” Harry said, his voice tight as Draco yanked at the stubborn curls and tangles. “There’s nothing to be done for it. You should just accept that I’ll always look this way. It’ll be better for both of us.”

“No. I always get what I want, Potter, and I want your hair to behave.” Summoning his jar of Sleekeazy, he poured a generous amount into his hands before working it into Harry’s hair. “Two drops, my arse,” he mumbled irritably. “Your grandfather really should have anticipated your hair.”

“Yes, well.” Harry yelped when Draco pulled a bit too hard. “Okay, you’re going to have to distract me.”

Draco nearly echoed his yelp when Harry’s hand snaked around his waist and pulled him forward. “Stop it,” he laughed. “I need to see what I’m doing.”

"Mmm,  _ or… _ " 

"Or, you'll look awfully foolish in Mother's posh parlor," Draco admonished. 

" _ Or,  _ you could do that other thing you like to do to my hair," he suggested, winking. 

"And make it even messier? No such luck. Now, hold still."

With a great deal more grumbling and hair potions, Draco pulled and plucked and  _ fought _ with the unruly hair until it maintained a semblance of order. Quite proud of himself, he took a step back to admire his work. Winced. Harry’s head gleamed in the midmorning light filtering in through the window of Draco’s dorm, highlighting just how much of the potion he’d been forced to use and, while he watched, several locks sprung free from the magic holding them in place. 

Draco groaned, his shoulders slumped in defeat. 

“What is it?” Harry asked, twisting to look for a mirror. “Did you do it?”

“No, I didn’t. What is your hair made of?”

Harry laughed, conjuring a mirror when he couldn’t find one. A glance at its surface had him wincing, too. “Magic. That’s my magical core, didn’t you know?”

“Whatever. You can go wash it out, but hurry. Gods, what a waste of time.”

Standing, Harry leaned in to kiss him, soothing the pout Draco could feel turning his mouth. “It was a noble effort, Draco.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go on, or we’re going to be late.”

-

“So,” Harry asked, leaning close once they exited the floo and stood in the receiving room of Malfoy Manor. “Does your mum know I’m your boyfriend?”

Draco snorted. “You’re not my boyfriend,” he scoffed.

“Wait, what?” Taken aback, Harry stared. Well, then, what the hell were they? “What do you mean?”

“Merlin, Potter, calm down. I just mean the term ‘boyfriend’ is so… plebeian. I’d say we’re lovers.”

Okay, Harry thought, lovers did sound better. But it also sounded a tad scandalous. “And so… your mum knows we’re lovers, then?” He asked pointedly.

A lovely flush rose on Draco’s neck, tinging his cheeks pink. “Alright, I see your point,” he muttered, avoiding Harry’s eyes. “Partners?”

Grinning, Harry took his hand, brought it to his lips. “I like that. Partner,” he murmured.

That’s how Narcissa Malfoy found them, staring into each other’s eyes over joined hands. She cleared her throat subtly, a knowing smile lingering in the corner of her mouth when they turned to her.

“Draco, welcome home,” she said, gliding into the small room and embracing her son. “And Mr Potter. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“Please, Mrs Malfoy, you can call me Harry,” he insisted, his hand enveloping hers. 

Narcissa was an interesting woman. She still looked much like she had when Harry had first seen her when he was fourteen, at the Quidditch World Cup. Though her face seemed softer than it had then, she still had an air of regality—a dominating presence that was more than a little intimidating. But there was nothing but warmth and welcome in her smile.

“Then you must call me Narcissa, Harry,” she said. “Come along, I’ve asked Jinx to serve tea in the drawing room.”

Taking Draco’s hand again, Harry followed Narcissa out of the small receiving room and into the house.

-

Draco smiled as they entered the drawing room. It was one of his favorite rooms in the Manor, and one of the few left untouched by the Dark Lord’s presence in previous years. When they’d settled and tea had been served by the aging house elf, Draco turned to his mother.

“I trust you’re well.”

“Yes, dear. I’ve been keeping myself entertained. I have recently had the pleasure of my sister’s company, and your cousin Edward. I believe he would be your godson, Harry?”

“Yes,” Harry said, a fond smile lighting his handsome face. “How is he? I haven’t had the opportunity to see him since school began.”

“He’s well. I’d rather say Andi has her hands full. He’s certainly a precocious child. He’s only recently begun walking and already he runs everywhere.”

Draco smiled at the way Harry’s face brightened further. “Yes, I know! Andromeda sent photos. He’ll be ready for a broom any day now, she says.”

“Yes,” Narcissa chuckled, “I would imagine so.” 

After that, conversation steered toward classes and exams, plans for the future. None of it was news to Draco; he and Harry talked frequently about what they’d do once school was over. When the conversation hit a lull, though, Draco posed the question that had been on his mind for some time.

“Mother,” he began. “Do you think I’m doing the right thing, releasing the elves?”

“What’s this about?” she asked, setting her teacup down with a clink. “You sounded so sure of yourself when you wrote to me about it.”

Harry didn’t speak, but his eyes conveyed a similar message. “I don’t know,” Draco admitted. “As the day gets closer, it feels bigger; more real. What are we going to do without elves? I don’t know how to cook. And the size of this house! How can we maintain it? I feel like—”

“Draco, breath,” Narcissa ordered. “Malfoy’s have never excelled at adaptability. We have always adapted the world to fit our needs, rather than adapting our needs to fit the world we live in. Until this year. You have shown that it is not beyond our capabilities to change, and we will continue to do just that. We will learn to cook, we will learn to clean. Most importantly, we will do so with our heads held high. There is no shame in caring for oneself.”

It was nothing Draco hadn’t told himself, but it was soothing to hear his mother mirror his thoughts. Taking her hand, he smiled. “Thank you. You’re right, of course.”


	7. Chapter Seven

Stepping out of the receiving room at Malfoy Manor for the second time in a month, Harry stared, bewildered. Had all of these people come to watch Draco free his elves? 

It didn't take him long to realise he recognised everyone currently swarming the corridor that led to the Manor's ballroom. Many of them were students from his and Draco's year; others were a few years younger and older. Some were family of friends and classmates; he even counted a few Order members among the throng. 

Spotting Ron and Neville, Harry waded his way toward them. 

"Harry!" Neville greeted, thumping him on the back. "Good to see you again, mate."

"Hullo Nev. What's going on here?" 

"Word travels," Neville shrugged. 

"It must do," Ron agreed. "I was barely awake this morning when everyone was bustling around getting ready. Mum brought food; she figured there wouldn't be enough."

"She's right," Harry said weakly. "We weren't expecting this many people. How did they find out?" 

"Was it supposed to be a secret?" Neville asked. "The whole school was talking about it for months.”

“They were?”

“Where have you been?" 

"Holed up with Malfoy," Ron sniggered. Harry shoved him, but he was grinning. 

"Damn. He wanted to keep this simple. I hope the  _ Prophet  _ hasn’t caught wind. Where is Draco?" he asked, glancing around as if he could see over the ocean of guests.

“I haven’t seen him yet,” Ron said, and Neville shook his head. “No sign of the  _ Prophet, _ though. And we can keep them out if they do turn up.”

“I’m sure he’ll turn up, Harry,” Neville offered, “if only to kick us all out.”

“Yeah,” Harry laughed. “He’s bound to be freaking out. I’m going to go find him. Cheers.”

With that, he began the arduous journey through the enormous doors and into the ballroom.

-

Draco felt a little like the proverbial chicken with its head cut off. Absolute chaos had broken loose in his ballroom, and he didn’t know quite how to handle it. He was running in circles, checking on the catering, corralling the guests. Harry and his friends had apparently decided to invite everyone they knew on a personal level. Half of their graduating class was in attendance, as well as most of the living Weasleys. He had to fight down nausea when he overheard a gaggle of redheads contemplating whether Minister Shacklebolt would be in attendance. 

There even seemed to be a great many more elves than he expected. Finally, he dragged Granger into an alcove to ask her about them, and she beamed.

“Isn't it wonderful? They were excited when I told them what was happening and said they wanted to come, too.”

“But where did they come from?” he demanded.

“Hogwarts, of course. What other house elves have I had the opportunity to talk to?”

Waving, she scurried away to greet Luna Lovegood as she arrived, leaving Draco on the verge of tearing out his hair. Glancing around the room, he homed in on the wild head of hair that indicated Harry was surrounded by even more Weasleys near the arching entrance of the room. He made his way through the crowd as quickly as he could, politely avoiding anyone who approached him as he tried to get to Harry. 

He was nearly there when a plump woman with bright red hair placed herself firmly in his path. “Draco Malfoy,” she said.

“Yes, I’m sorry, I need to attend to—”

“I’m Molly Weasley and I have a few things I’d like to say to you, young man.”

Draco stared, horrified. Molly Weasley was as terrifying to him as his own mother. This was bound to end poorly.

-

When Harry finally caught sight of Draco, he had to laugh. He was paler than usual and seemed a bit shorter as he was stared down by Molly Weasley. Deciding to take pity on him, Harry waved away the people who were determined to keep him from reaching Draco and wrapped Molly in a hug from the side.

“Molly, please tell me you aren’t scaring him?” he pleaded, pressing a kiss to her weathered cheek.

“Oh, tosh. I was just letting the boy know I brought more food and that I’m proud of what he’s doing. Why should I scare him?” Her tone brooked no argument, but Draco’s face told another story.

“I see,” Harry said skeptically. “Well, if you’re finished, I need to speak with ‘the boy.’” Without waiting for an answer, he hooked one arm through Draco’s and steered him away.

“Get his measurements, will you Harry?” Molly called and Harry chuckled as he lifted a hand to show her he agreed.

“My measurements?” Draco asked, stumbling as he looked back over his shoulder. “What does she want my measurements for?”

“It’s a surprise,” was all Harry said until they were in a quiet alcove. “How are you doing?”

“How am I doing?” Draco asked, incredulous. “My house is full of people I didn’t invite, let alone expect. Why didn’t you tell me you lot were inviting everyone you know?”

“I didn’t know,” Harry insisted. “I only just found out that anyone knew this was happening. Apparently,” he leered, leaning in until his lips were a breath away from Draco’s, “we were too wrapped up in each other to notice the entire student body was talking about us.”

“About me, you mean,” Draco growled, shoving at Harry’s shoulders. “Did they come here to laugh at me? Making a big deal about something we should have done decades ago? Gods, why did I think this was a good idea?”

“Draco, relax.”

-

Harry’s hands on his shoulders were soothing, steadying, but Draco was still struggling to breathe.

“No one is here to laugh at you, because what you’re doing isn’t funny. It’s important. Maybe some came because they doubt you’ll do it, but you’ll prove them wrong.”

“Of course I’m going to do it,” Draco scoffed, relieved when the sound came out more confident than he felt. “I didn’t spend all year planning this for no reason.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Harry agreed.

“Can I kick them out?” 

Harry laughed, easing more of Draco’s tension. “You could, but what would that prove?”

“That I’m a coward,” he sighed. “Okay, they stay. But you have to come with me. I’m not standing up in front of all these people alone.”

“Wasn’t that already the plan?”

“What? No, I don’t think so…”

Harry shook his head, feigning outrage, though his eyes were twinkling. “I can’t believe it, you were going to leave me out after all the work I put into this? Do you realise how many bags I carried for you?”

“Well, you’re part of it now, so stop complaining.” Almost without realising it, Draco felt like himself again, the easy banter he shared with Harry back in full force. “You can start by getting those bags of clothes,” he smirked. “We’ll add twenty-three to that number.”

Harry glared at him briefly, but laughed again and headed out of the alcove to do as he asked. Squaring his shoulders, Draco followed him out. Back in the ballroom, he scanned the crowd for Granger and Weasley. They were responsible for these numbers; they could bloody well help him accommodate them. 

He found them separately. After sending Granger to the kitchens to gather the elves, he hunted down Weasley and found more of them than he'd bargained for. 

"You lot," he called over the noise filling the room to its high ceilings. "Can you conjure more seats? I don't have enough." 

"You got it, mate," Weasley said, slapping his closest brother on the chest before turning to set to work. "Let's do this. Percy, clear the crowd, give us some room."

Draco left them to it, returning to the head of the room just as Harry came strolling back with armloads of clothes. 

-

"Did you get each of them their own outfit?" Harry asked, groaning as he set the bags on the long table Draco had set up. 

"Are you mad, Potter? I didn't buy anything that could remotely form an outfit. I just threw a few things together for each elf, since I got so much."

Harry grinned. God, he was over the moon for this man. He wondered idly if Draco could see it. 

"Okay, help me lay these out. Granger is collecting the elves. Weasley!" Draco called,and several heads shot up before the one he wanted jogged over to them. "Can you start getting people seated? We're almost ready to begin."

Ron nodded and turned in his tracks to jog back. Smiling fondly, Harry began unpacking the clothes, chuckling at the odd combinations as he laid them side by side along the table, each marked by a small placard with an elf's name. Draco took half the bags and moved to start at the opposite end, and they met in the middle in no time. 

When Harry looked up again, the guests were nearly finished seating themselves and Hermione stood at the doorway with a dozen little heads peeking curiously around her robes. He nodded in their direction. 

"Looks like we're ready," he said, and Draco wiped his hands nervously on his trousers. 

"Looks like." He motioned for Hermione to bring the elves forward and positioned them at one end of the table. 

"Everyone," he called over the din of chattering guests. "If I could get your attention!" 

"OI!" one of the Weasleys shouted (Harry thought it might be Bill) and the chatter quieted instantly. 

"Th-thank you," Draco stammered. "Thank you all for coming, er, joining us today…" 

Someone coughed and Draco cringed. He turned to Harry, his eyes pleading. They hadn't prepared for this, but Harry had faith. Smiling, he mimed deep breaths, hoping Draco could sense his confidence. 

-

Nodding, Draco turned back to the crowd, closed his eyes, and took deep, steadying breaths. When he felt his shoulders begin to relax, he opened his eyes. 

"Welcome. Though I don't know quite how you all managed it, I'm glad you're here." And he was, beneath the gut wrenching fear of backlash; he was proud of his decision and happy to share the experience. It was part of the reason he'd invited Harry and his friends in the first place. 

"I'm sure you all know what today is about, but there is a small group who have yet to be informed." He turned then, indicating the house elves. "House elves of Malfoy Manor, if you would be so kind as to take your places before the table."

Slowly, cautiously, they shuffled forward until each stood before their own name. Draco frowned when he realised that nearly every elf had a look of terror on its face. Jinx, their oldest elf, looked warily at the pile of clothes before her. Draco shook his head, reminding himself of what he was saying. He'd practiced this part. 

"I, Draco Malfoy, present each of you with these clothes, thereby freeing you from your service to the house of Malfoy," he recited, rising to a crescendo as he spoke. 

The room burst into applause from every corner, the guests rose to their feet, most of the elves cheered and snatched up their clothing, but as Draco stared, horrified, a handful of elves threw back their little heads and wailed. 

"Master doesn't wants us?" one cried. 

"What is we doing wrong?" another demanded, pulling on her ears. 

"Nooooooooooooo!" one at the far left sobbed. 

And a fourth simply stared at Draco like he'd ripped the poor thing's heart out and stamped on it. 

Desperate, Draco turned back to Harry. "What—what do I do?" he cried. The roar was dying down as the cries of the elves rose impossibly high. "What did I do wrong?" 

"I don't know," Harry said. "I've never seen this. Dobby was thrilled to be freed."

"Hermione!" Draco called, then turned to find she had already made her way to the front of the room. "What…?"

Before she could answer, Jinx marched toward them with her long fingers curled in a ball and smashed against her hip. "Master Draco," she said, authority ringing in her voice. "What is you thinking? We's not going anywheres." With that declaration, she folded her bony arms and stared up at him, as if challenging him to disagree. 

Frankly, he was terrified to do so. "O-of course," he agreed. "But—" 

"Draco," Harry hissed, snagging his attention. "Offer them a salary!" 

"Yes, of course!" Hermione cried. 

Squaring his shoulders, Draco began again. "Of course you can stay, Jinx. But I'd like you to remain free elves. If you wish to remain in service, let me at least offer you a salary."

She seemed to think about the offer, then turned to look at the other four elves who were still wailing and nodded. "We stays. You can pays us."

Draco sighed, relief coursing through him as the ballroom exploded with approval.


	8. Chapter Eight

Harry made his way to the kitchen of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, scratching his neck and yawning. Half blind with sleep, he set about making coffee, turning to dig up some leftovers from Molly's Sunday lunch while it brewed. When an owl tapped at the window above the sink, he let it in with a casual flick of his wrist, smiling as he saw the magazine it carried. He'd been expecting his copy of the  _ Quibbler _ for weeks, ever since Draco freed his elves. It was still a hot topic, and he looked forward to reading Luna's piece. Summoning his wallet, he paid the owl and watched her take off. 

Just as he sat down with his coffee and pulled the magazine closer, a loud pop startled him and sent coffee sloshing over the edges of his mug. 

"For fuck's sake!" he shouted, replacing the mug on the table and cradling his scalded hand. "What the—" 

A little elf stood before him, her large eyes wide and earnest. Harry recognized her as one of the elves who'd chosen to stay on at Malfoy Manor. She wore a lilac scarf and a green tutu and, in her hands, she held a small flower pot with a twig poking out of the soil. 

"Mister Harry Potter, sir!" she cried. "I is sorry to be scaring you!" She ducked her head and thrust the pot forward. "I is bringing you a gift from Master Draco. He is being very happy for your help!" 

Smiling, Harry took the pot. "A gift from Draco? That's lovely. Thank you, er…" 

"Mipsy, sir."

"Thank you Mipsy," he said idly. Turning the pot around in his hands, he tried to work out what it was. He gave up and turned back to the elf. "Er, what is it, exactly?" 

Mipsy stared at him as if he'd grown an extra head. "It is a cutting, Mister Harry Potter, sir," she said reverently, "from the oldest tree being at the Manor."

"Oh," Harry said, nodding sagely. "Then I shall take especially good care of it. Thank you for bringing this to me, Mipsy."

Mipsy's little face lit up bright red and she nodded. "Yes sir!" she cried before disappearing with another  _ pop!  _

Chuckling, Harry set the odd little gift on the windowsill and headed back upstairs to get dressed. 

-

Draco was pouring over the records his father left behind—minutes from estate meetings and ledgers from all of the businesses he’d had his fingers in—when the chime sounded, signalling the arrival of a visitor. He wasn’t expecting anyone; there was nothing on his schedule for the day. And there was only one person who would drop in unannounced.

Grinning at the prospect of a random visit from Harry, Draco gladly left his work behind and made his way down to the receiving room. Jinx was already there.

“Master Draco is being busy, Mr Potter. Please to be makin—”

“It’s alright, Jinx,” Draco assured her, startling the elf and Harry. “You may go; I’ll take care of Mr Potter.”

She grumbled under her breath, something he’d noticed much more of since he’d freed her, and disappeared with a  _ pop,  _ leaving them alone.

“You’ll take care of me, will you?” Harry asked, smirking.

“Oh shut up you twat,” Draco replied, but there was no bite to his words, and they were softened further when he crossed the room and wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders, pulling him in for a kiss. “Merlin, I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“Oh, it hasn’t been quite that long,” Harry murmured. 

“I know, I’ve just been so busy, I feel like everything else has fallen by the wayside.”

Harry tightened his arms around Draco’s waist, hitching him closer. "Is that why you keep sending me gifts? So that I'll drop in and distract you?" He leaned in for another kiss but Draco frowned and pulled back. 

"Gifts?" he asked, eyeing Harry quizzically. "What are you talking about?" 

"The gifts you sent me," Harry repeated. "You know, the tree and the whisk—" 

"The whisk?" 

Now Harry was frowning, too. "You sent me your best whisk."

"I assure you, Potter, I did not send you my best whisk," Draco smirked. "I didn't even know I had a ‘best whisk.’ And, if I did, I'd have kept it for myself."

Harry snorted, though he still looked puzzled. "Your house elves brought them, Draco. They had to come from you."

-

"My elves?" 

"Yes, Mipsy brought the cutting a week ago and Wimble brought the whisk just today."

Draco thought for a moment, pacing away from Harry and back in the small room. "Why would my elves be giving you gifts?" 

“How should I know? I’m not an elf.” But an idea struck him and he held out a hand to still Draco’s pacing. “Maybe they think you only kept them on because of me,” he suggested.

"Well, that’s— I mean… I suppose I did." Spotting the bag on the floor at Harry's feet, he bent to peer inside. "A whisk and a stick." 

"Yeah," Harry chuckled, rubbing a hand through his hair. "'A cutting from the Manor's oldest tree' and 'my best whisk," he quoted. 

"Merlin, elves are strange."

"Yep. D'you reckon we should go see what they're up to?" 

"Yes, I do reckon. Come along." So saying, he turned and let the way through the Manor and into the kitchens. "Jinx!" he called, then started when she materialized beside him. "Kindly explain to me why Harry Potter is receiving gifts I have not sent," he asked. 

"Gifts, Master?" she replied, her large brow furrowed in what might have been confusion. "Jinx doesn't know—" 

She was cut off by a skittering sound and all eyes turned toward one corner of the vast room. There, a little elf in a pink cummberbund cowered against the cupboards. 

"Mipsy," Jinx scolded. "Get back to works!" 

"No, wait," Draco said. "Mipsy? What do you know about these gifts?" 

"G-gifts, Master?" the little elf squeaked, shrinking even smaller.

“Yes, Harry said you delivered the first.” 

She was silent for a long moment before, with an ear piercing shriek, she threw herself across to the stove, opened it, and slammed it closed on her own hands. Harry and Draco shot into motion, racing to her side. Harry grabbed the sobbing elf and tumbled to the floor with her while Draco removed her hands and shut the oven, standing in front of it to block further attempts at self mutilation. 

-

"What are you doing?" Draco cried. "I've told you! No more self punishment, you don’t have to do that anymore!" 

"I is sorry, Master! Mipsy only wants to be helping!" 

Taking a deep breath, Draco tried to calm himself. "I'm sorry I shouted, Mipsy. I just don't want you to hurt yourself. Do you think you could talk to me without trying to hurt yourself?"

"Yes, Master. Mipsy is r-ready." But she hiccoughed on the last word and Draco shook his head. 

"Take a few deep breaths, Mipsy. Jinx," he called, turning to the elderly elf who still stood in the entrance to the kitchens. "Collect the rest of the elves, I want to talk to everyone at once."

With a curt nod, she disappeared and Draco turned back to Harry. "I'm sorry," he said. "Everything is a bit out of order just now."

Harry smiled up where he now knelt beside Mipsy, a hand on her tiny shoulder. "It's a bit mad, yeah," he chuckled. 

Confident that Harry would keep the elf safe from herself, Draco edged himself away from the stove and toward a cupboard to retrieve several small glasses, filled them with a spell, and set each at the table. If Mipsy's reaction was any indication, he'd need a way to calm the rest of the elves. Following his lead, Harry rose and led Mipsy to the table, helped her to sit, and urged her to drink. 

When four loud  _ pops  _ heralded their arrival, Harry and Draco worked together to get everyone seated with a glass of water and assurances that no one was in trouble, though that last bit fell on deaf ears as they darted nervous glances around the table and hunched their shoulders defensively. 

"Alright, is everyone comfortable?" Draco asked, taking his own seat at the head of the table. "Good. Now, it's been brought to my attention that you have been sending gifts to Harry. I would like to know why. Who asked you to deliver these gifts?" 

-

Harry watched on, amused at the reactions flying around the table, from confusion to guilt and everything in between. He wasn't aware elves could be deceitful, but here was the evidence. Then the elf he’d been watching spoke and Harry had to bite back a bark of laughter. 

"No one is telling us to send gifts, Master Draco," he said, likely entirely honestly. 

"We only wants to be helping!" Mipsy wailed again, and the other elf, not Wimble—Harry didn't know this one—shot her a glare he wouldn't have believed if he hadn't seen it himself. "Master Draco is being so kind! We just wants to be helping him!" 

"Helping me?" Draco asked "How would sending Harry gifts help—" 

He broke off, a look of understanding crossing over his features, a blush following close after. "Oh, for Merlin's sake!" 

"Draco?" Harry asked. "What is it?" 

Draco didn't reply, but it hardly mattered. Jinx spoke, her gravelly voice steady as the colour deepened on Draco's face. 

"We is knowing how Master Draco feels about Harry Potter, sir," she said, and suddenly Harry was blushing, too. "We is raising him; we knows everythings. We is wanting Harry Potter to—" 

"Yes, Jinx, thank you. That's enough. You may all—" 

"Wait a minute," Harry interrupted. Standing, he rounded the table until he was standing next to Draco. "Don't you think they should know?" 

"What? No, Potter, I don't think they should  _ know!"  _

"Draco! I'm surprised at you. These poor elves have gone out of their way to make you happy. Don't you think they deserve to know that you  _ are  _ happy?" 

Draco glared at him, crossing his arms petulantly and affecting a pout. "I'm not happy," he insisted. “You're ganging up on me with my house elves."

Grinning, Harry reached down to haul Draco to his feet and planted a firm kiss on his stubborn mouth. Draco didn't kiss him back, but neither did he push him away, so Harry slung an arm around his shoulders and turned to face the elves. 

"As you can see, he is perfectly happy. We're happy. Now, Wimble, would you like your whisk back?" 

-

Later that night, while Harry slept, Draco lay curled in the circle of his arms and smiled. He had the man he loved, five devoted little elves, and his whole life ahead of him. Yes, he thought, he was happy. 

The End 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Remember, kudos are love and comments validate my existence <3


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